Forget Regret
by Madame Hatter
Summary: postrent Oneshot. Ten years or so later. Roger struggles to figure out where everything went wrong now that they all had broken up. Everyone's left him, Mark, Mimi... until a secret video tape draws him back.


_Author's Note: I do not own Rent. T-rated, but there is swearing. Please read and review. Criticism is encouraged. This is my first one-shot. Thank you._

**Forget Regret**

He rolled to see his beautiful girl sleeping angelically beside him. A smile formed on his face and he gently brushed his lips with hers. She didn't react to his kiss, but simply rested there, breathing softly. Roger smiled at this- he hoped that she'd recognize his kiss in her dream. He scanned his eyes down her thin swan-like neck, her shiny blonde hair raining along the curves of her breasts. She was wearing a black satin lingerie that drove him wild. He traced his hand along her thighs, knowing very well that was where it ticked most.

"Mmm..." she hummed softly, and then chuckled. She blinked a few times before opening them, revealing two dark blue eyes. In the night, Roger could have sworn they were violet.

"Hi Katrina," he whispered.

"Hi Roger," she replied before yawning. "What time is it?"

"3AM. Still dark."

She held his hand tightly. "I thought we were just going to have dinner?"

This made him laugh. "Nothing happened," he promised. And that was the truth. Nothing did happen. They kissed and caressed and took off some clothing, but it was purely innocent. Roger still had his boxers on. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to hurt another girl for as long as he lived. He didn't want her to suffer the way he did. Katrina was healthy- she was AIDS-free. He couldn't do that to her, and he told her that. Nothing happened.

"And why not?" she asked.

"Huh?" Roger had been lost in thought.

"Why didn't anything happen?"

"Katrina, we discussed this-"

"I'm in love with you, Roger."

Roger looked at her forlornly. "And I love you. That's why I can't... you know I can't." She pulled herself close to him and rested her head on his chest. She took his hand and placed it on the back of her thigh. She cuddled close and Roger kissed the top of her head.

"I want to feel you... all of you, Roger. I don't care about what happens later. I care about us, right now."

And this is why he loved her so much. She loved him and lived for him as if they were never going to see each other again. She cared as if they were going to part the very next day.

"Please Roger... please," she begged as she moved closer to his body and he felt her shiver from the cold. He traced his hand to her waist, and brought her as close as possible, hoping that the heat of his body would provide him warmth. More than anything... he wanted her more than anything, but he couldn't hurt her.

"I want this... I want you," she said almost crying. Roger shook his head.

"I can't... I can't..."

"Please... I love you," and she brought her fingers to his boxers, tickling his skin, slowly slipping them down.

"No..." he tried to resist the urge of making love with her, giving her everything she wanted. "Don't make me regret this... I can't Katrina."

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I lied awake. I had been awake for a while now. The morning light peeked beneath the chocolate colored drapes, but other than that, it was quite dark. The day was probably half gone, and I couldn't think of anything else but Katrina. My last love- the one that left me because I couldn't give her what she wanted, what she needed. I couldn't satisfy her needs; I couldn't make her happy. Damn, that made me feel so miserable. Inside, an aching heart beat against my sore chest, dropping occasionally to the pit of my stomach. God, I felt awful. And I knew I shouldn't have. I had a great life... until the sudden thought of my life being contaminated with a disease that has scheduled my inevitable death crept back in.

A note rang in the air. A guitar chord blasted through the walls, and then random notes. I pulled the covers over my head, feeling like I was eleven, and I didn't want to go to school. He turned the volume up, and the guitar echoed in my ears. Okay, the guitar was great and all, but now I was a bit irritated. I'm getting too old for this, I thought and kicked off the sheets, heading for Jesse's bedroom. I knocked on the door, but the response was the tune to Aerosmith's _Dude Looks Like a Lady_. I banged on the door.

"Jesse, can you turn it down?" Evidently, my dear son didn't hear me. I knocked even louder, but it was drowned by another sound. A bass. And then the drums. What the hell is going on in there? I knew my son was talented, but there was no way in hell he was playing those instruments at the same time.

"JESSE! OPEN UP!" I shouted. What time was it? "JESSE! I mean it buddy!"

The music faded messily, and the door swung open. Jesse stood behind it, his dark curly hair toppled on top of his elvish face, which matched his lanky 13-year-old body. I sighed and looked at him sternly.

"What is going on in there?"

"Nothing." Typical. I used to pull that. I pushed him aside slightly, and in his bedroom were Pedro and Jeremy, his band mates and future partners in crime.

"When did you guys get here?" I demanded.

"Half an hour ago," Jesse replied.

"Jesse, I told you that you couldn't have friends over without telling me first."

"We're just hanging," he said defensively. I rolled my eyes, trying hard not to give him the don't-give-that-crap glare that my father used on me. I gestured the guys out, and they didn't say another word, but left. After I heard the front door slam, I sighed and looked at my son. He was avoiding my stare, putting away his guitar.

"Jesse, I thought we were cool."

"You don't know anything about being cool."

Ooh, that hurt. But it was sort of funny, but I tried not to laugh. "Jesse, I just want you to follow rules. You don't know how dangerous it can be out there."

"How would you know? You've never been out there- you don't know what it's like."

"And you think you do?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. If this was ten years ago, I would have picked up his guitar and smacked him over the head with it. He slumped down on his bed and folded his arms.

"You never let me do anything," he grumbled. Why did this seem like a really bad sitcom or soap opera rerun?

"Jesse, hear me out-"

"I don't want to hear it!"

What? "Excuse me?" He's never raised his voice that way before. And who the hell does he think he is, raising his voice at me?

"You're not my real father. You're just someone who felt sorry for me, so you picked me up at the orphanage."

I gawked at my ill-begotten son. Not only was he awkwardly blunt, but he had that tone...that tone I use to have. It was true that I adopted him, but it wasn't because I felt sorry for him. It was terrible that those memories died. Those memories that he couldn't remember. I remembered the time I first brought him home. He was five, and we had an amazing time. Ah, it was a blast, and it felt good being a father, caring for someone so young, that had so much to live for.

"Jesse..." I choked on my own words. I couldn't finish my sentence for some reason. Perhaps I was hurt more than I expected by his statement. I turned away. I couldn't even look at him anymore. I wasn't his real father. Did he think I wasn't good enough to be a father nonetheless? I loved him like my own, and for a while I thought we'd develop those relationships that would never break... but as he grew, it felt as if we started to grow apart.

I left his room and closed the door, probably leaving him confused. I went into my own room and threw the door closed. I stopped myself, then felt very odd. I felt like a little kid, and I shouldn't have. I was 35-years-old, I shouldn't be going to my own room, slamming the door shut as if I was grounded for two months. Weird. I walked over to the edge of my bed, and lowered my head. Funny how one small moment can ruin a person's emotions for the entire day. But then again, I wasn't in the greatest of moods to begin with. I couldn't get her out of my head.

Hmm... I got up and opened my closet door. Inside were clothes and junk and just about anything I can store that I knew I wouldn't look at until something like this happened. I took out my black guitar case. I haven't brought this out in months... or has it been a year? I couldn't remember. I clicked the locks open, and it swung up, dust flying everywhere. I coughed, and swiped the air. Inside were old sheet music with chicken scratch on it, old pictures of years gone by, several video tapes that I stole from Mark before... before he...

I picked one tape up. I didn't even watch them, I just stole them. At first because it was out of spite. But as I thought about it, I probably did it so I could hold on to him. So I had something of his, so our friendship would still be remembered. Maybe if I had some of his work, it would give hope that... well, that those times... when I finally leave this world...

I popped in the tape in the VCR. Might as well watch them now, seeing as I have nothing else better to do. Maybe it would be a good for me, watching something that would make me feel better, reliving the good old days. It should work. The blue screen fuzzed a bit, then zapped into a black screen. The sound of Mark fiddling with his camera was heard on television. I watched intently.

"Are we ready?" a familiar voice. Oh God, I hope I didn't steal anything kinky. Then again he didn't remember Mark being at all kinky. He wouldn't film anything like that. At least not the nerdy Mark he knew.

"I don't know if we should do this..." Mark's voice said. The screen was still black. Uh-oh...maybe I shouldn't be watching this. I might stumble into something that would blind me forever, or leave me in shock.

"For me, Mark," the familiar voice said again. It was a female's voice.

"Mimi..." Onscreen Mark said. Oh God. I leaned forward, hoping desperately that the screen would come up with some color. As if on cue, a blurry scene appeared on the set. A small latina girl with long curly hair materialized, and focused on his television. She looked very thin, and pale, her eyes half open. She was just sitting there, facing the camera. She looked cold, and ill. I wrinkled my brow, trying not to let out anything that resembled a whimper or a cry... Roger Davis did not cry.

"Do your thing Mark," said onscreen Mimi.

I heard him sigh from behind his camera. This was obviously something he didn't want to do. "December 31. New Year's Eve. Mimi Marquez, focus. Action."

"My name is Mimi Marquez, and I have AIDS." She intertwined her fingers and tried to hold them still on her lap. "I am dying. The end... is very near for me. I just want to say goodbye. I don't know what to do, but..." she paused, as if lost for thought. "...spread the word. ACT UP- fight aids. Be strong, stay in school. Use protection, don't have sex until your married. Be honest, be faithful. Never linger away from those you love most..." I gulped. I remembered that face. I remembered her hair. I remembered her eyes. Mimi.

"Your life is so short, and you don't realize it until something life threatening happens," she continued. "And then when you are dying...days become so long, and you feel like you just wanna die. Sometimes I just want to get this over with. Every life has an expiration date... but I hate knowing when mine is, and that mine is very soon. Grab hold of love because that's the only thing that lasts forever..."

The screen blurred a bit, and tilted down. I heard Mark sniff from behind. The camera lifted and focused again, and Mark softly croaked, "Sorry." Mimi went on. "I am 21-years-old. I did drugs, alcohol, and stripped before the legal age. I regret everything I've done, but it's okay. I learn from experience. I pay the ultimate price. I can only pass on the word." She let out a tired sigh. "My goodbyes. Joanne- you're everything I wanted to be. I've always looked to you as someone I could grow up to be. Intelligent, good head on their shoulders, steady career, focused, sophisticated. Keep doing what you're doing- you'll reach someone else out there."

The camera shook. I turned up the volume and scooted forward. She continued. "Maureen. You were like my older sister, someone who always looked after me, and always scared off the men when they were buggin' me. You made me feel protected, safe. Thank you. I couldn't have asked for someone who cared so much about me. Collins. Don't worry. I'm going to live with Angel and we'll take care of each other. I promise I won't let her wear those high heels anymore, and that she can rest peacefully. We'll always look after you though, Collins. You taught me how to love, how to become a family. A life long lesson I would have never learned anywhere else."

Colllins. Roger remembered the man who was the adhesive to their family. He was such a good person, always knew what to say, what to do. He died five years ago.

"Oh and before I forget. Benny... go to hell." She smiled. I remembered that smile. My heart lifted, but it wasn't good or bad. I wanted to cry, but I bit my lip from doing so. "Mark. Marky. My poor bebé. Alma perdida."

"Hey I've got that on film, whatever you called me," said Mark lightly.

"My poor soul, I said," said onscreen Mimi. "You are wonderful and innocent. Stay that way. You see the world differently, not like us. You have time, you have heart. You're a good friend, and everyone needs someone like you. I will miss you so much. You understand so much and you're not going through the things I'm going through. If only I can take you with me. Be yourself Mark. And keep filming. It's okay being the witness."

"Mimi, I love you," whispered Mark.

"I love you too," she said softly. It was suddenly silent. I held my breath. I knew it was coming. She cleared her throat a bit, and looked down, then looked into the camera. Tears started to glitter behind her eyes. Her eyes... "Roger. Roger, I don't know what's going to happen between us. I know we're having a bit more trouble speaking to each other... because... because of this... I know you still don't want to watch me die. But I love you. And if there's a stronger word than that, it's that. You mean everything to me. I... I never thought there would be anyone to save me, but you did. You made me live longer. It's not much, I know. But I feel... alive when I'm with you. I feel that I'm not sick. Roger, I want you to live too. You'll always be my love. No matter what happens to me, to you. You have friends. You'll always have me. You are my life. My one and only. Mi amor... por siempre." She was crying softly, tears streaming down her face. "Te amo, Roger. I love you so much. Live long."

The screen made a buzzing noise then turned blue again. I sat there, still. Mimi. How could I have forgotten? Did I ever forget? I wasn't sure. What broke us apart? Fuck, why was it all a blur? What was it about that night? _Knock, knock, knock_. The door. I got up and opened it to see Jesse on the other side. I hoped he didn't hear anything.

"Can I go out?"

"Where?" I asked.

"Practice. With Snake and Rooster." This is where our relationship went.

"Who?" I inquired.

"Pedro and Jeremy."

"Oh." Snake and Rooster? Even I didn't have nicknames like that when I was a kid. "Go. Be back for dinner." Actually this was a good thing. I needed to him to get out for a while because I needed to do something for myself. He left quickly, not even with a goodbye. I hardly noticed he left my sight until I heard the door shut. I groaned. What happened between us? I tried to shake off the thought and focus on what I had to do now. I grabbed my jacket, ejected the tape and ran out the door.

An hour's drive. And my mind was everywhere. Before I knew it, I approached a nice looking house, two-story, red bricked with a finely cut lawn. I rung the doorbell. The door slowly creaked opened, and I stepped back. No one was behind the door. I heard a squeak and looked down. A little blonde girl stood, staring at me with wide baby blue eyes.

"Hi... is your daddy or your mommy home?" I asked. This was strange. Not only did I not know who this little girl was, but she must have thought that I was some weirdo trying to mooch off from any family he could find.

"MOMMY, there's a man at our door!" she shrieked, and waddled away. Oh great, this isn't going to go well, I thought. I tried to put on a smile, showing off as much peace-holding allure as I could, trying to show off that I was a friend, not a stranger. A woman with dark wavy hair, perfect cheekbones, and a broad smile advanced to the doorway. She looked like she was expecting.

"Hi, may I help you?" she asked. She had a sweet voice. She was carrying a little boy who was about two years of age, who kept looking at me like I had something on my face. I tried not to notice him, but focused my attention on the woman.

"Yeah, I'm a friend of your husband's. My name is Roger Davis."

She gaped at me for a minute. "Oh. Oh my, it's nice to meet you, I've heard so much about you. Come in, come in..." I stepped in thanking her. She looked awfully flustered. "We... we were just heading out, but... Cynthia, do NOT touch that... Mark! Mark, there's someone here to see you."

"I thought you were heading out, you're going to be late!" a voice called from the hallway.

"I'm off, I'm off! I'm sorry but we're late for an appointment. Mark you'll be home for supper right?"

"Six o' clock! Love ya Lynn!"

"Love you!" She turned back to me. "It was really nice meeting you... Roger." I smiled and she ushered her kids to the car. She waved and I did the same, and shut the door. Mark came out looping his tie around. He froze in his tracks when he saw me.

"My God..." he said. He looked the same. Actually he looked youthful, steady. The blonde hair was actually controllable now, gently quaffed, something he never could master before. He still had his glasses, but he seemed different.

"Look at you. You're doing good," I said. "Lovely wife by the way. And beautiful kids. And another one on the way. I'm glad you didn't invite me to your fucking wedding, or didn't give me a fuckin' clue about your family! Because, hey they're just as important to me because I use to care about everything you did!"

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "Who are you to put all the blame on me? To come into my life and ruin it? I was prefectly happy before you walked through my fuckin' doorstep!"

"Excuse me, Mark, for putting baggage on your feet! Let me take those away from you because everyone knows Mark never has baggage. I can't believe you forgot who you are, where you came from, what you lived for! La Vie Bo-fucking-heme Mark!"

"I have a family now Roger..."

"I have a son! And I'd like to thank you personally for ignoring all my letters about making you godfather of my child. That was really noble of you."

"You had changed! You were going to adopt a child with the salary of what your band pays! You slept with a tramp-"

"Katrina, and she was my last love."

"What about..." he stopped himself. I knew he would. He was always afraid to confront things to me. I could only count a few times where he really caught me off guard, however. But it seems now... he's grown up.

"What do you want?" he asked. On the drive here I thought about how I would approach thisto him. I decided just to be straight with him, demand why he would hide all this from me, when he knew that it meant a lot. I pulled out the tape from my pocket, and shoved it to him. It looked as if it kind of hurt him, and he took it, looking at it curiously.

"That was Mimi's last goodbye. Why the fuck did you keep that from me?"

He looked at it horror-stricken. "I thought this was with the rest of them. How did you get this?"

"I knicked it after we fought, and I moved out."

"Why?"

"You know what, I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe because I wanted to steal some of your best work and burn it. Maybe because I wanted something to remember you by. Hell, I never watched it until now." I growled, and turned away. "WHY didn't you tell me?"

"I... I couldn't."

"WHY the hell not? SHE was the one, wasn't she? Wasn't she Mark? Why didn't you show me the damn tape?"

"She was dying..."

"I KNEW that..." I stopped, trying to catch my breath. I couldn't take it. I was so enraged, so angry, so frustrated. Mimi was the one... she was the one I was suppose to be with... why didn't I see that? Why didn't he tell me? I walked over to him slowly, and looked him squarely in the eye, hoping that he would give me a full answer. "Why Mark?"

"You kept running away. Disappearing. You weren't there when Mimi died. You were the last to know. Do you know how betrayed we all felt?" I grabbed his shirt collar and pinned him to the wall. I clutched my fist furiously.

"Don't lecture me on betrayal, Mark..."

"Well, I learned from the best Roger," he said, and forced my hand off him. He had gotten strong. "I figured that if you didn't care enough to be there at Mimi's deathbed, then you didn't care about her or what she had to say."

"I was scared..."

"So were we." It was quiet for a while. This was my fault. This was MY fault. I tried to avoid her, avoid the problem. I figured that it I didn't have to think about it, if I left it alone, then everything will be all right. Because I didn't touch on the subject, then everything would be okay. When I found out she died, without so much of a note... I thought she hated me. And I hated myself for not saying anything. And then Katrina came along at the most vulnerabe, opportune moment. She was beautiful, caring, sweet. And then she left. Then I met Jesse... Katrina was my last love. But was she my true love?

"I'm sorry," I said. I dropped to the floor, my knees sinking into the carpet. "I loved Mimi. And I still do." The last sentence came out hoarse. Hot tears ran down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry too," said Mark. He kneeled beside me. "Don't dwell on the past. Think about now. No day but today, man."

"I know..." I laughed a lttle. "We wasted like ten years, didn't we?"

Mark laughed too, the old familiar laugh. "Yeah. We did."

"I feel like shit. Mimi..."

"Focus on Jesse now. He's the one whose made you happy, made you a better man than you were. I mean, when I left you were still in a band that was going no where. You work now, I hear. Good home. Food on the table. Make it easy. Live long."

"I don't even know if Jesse's talking to me. He thinks I'm a jerk- not his real father."

"He's what, 13, 14? He's at that age. Have you told him...about you having...?"

"No. I've been meaning to tell him. But it would only worry him."

Mark shook his head. "You don't have much time." Roger nodded. He understood.

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"Food okay?"

"Fine," answered Jesse. So much for small talk, I wondered hopelessly. I sighed. Just get it over with.

"Jesse, I need to tell you something." He responded by taking a sip of soda. Okay... "But before I tell you, I want you to know that no matter what happens I will always love you, and care for you, and that you will always have a godfather to come home to in case anything happens."

Jesse suddenly looked up, uncomfortably. "What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath. "Jesse... I have something called Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome..."


End file.
